


The Tun-a His Heart

by elegantstupidity



Category: Calvin & Hobbes
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hobbes POV, Scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 10:19:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17078486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: There were few things in this world that Hobbes loved more than tuna. Calvin happened to be one of them.





	The Tun-a His Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BardicRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardicRaven/gifts).



With a yawn and a languid, satisfied stretch, Hobbes cracked open one eye to survey his domain.

(Lions might be the kings of the jungle, but tigers made the far superior house cat.)

He was satisfied to find everything in the serene, empty living room just as he'd left it before falling asleep.

There were certainly days that Hobbes liked to take advantage of the empty house while Calvin was at school and his parents were at work or out running errands. Then, the house truly was his, not just some place he graciously shared with a family of humans. With everyone else gone, Hobbes could run laps to strengthen his legs for optimal pouncing or let out a few good roars to scare off other apex predators or hunt down the stray dust bunnies sheltering under the furniture.

Today, however, was not one of those days.

Today had called unequivocally for a nap. The perfect nap, actually. And who was he to deny the whims of the day?

So, he'd taken three hours and achieved bliss on the living room couch, curled up right in the sunny spot that came through the window during the mid-morning and warmed up the cushion to a toasty, ideal 78º. That spot was moving on, now, and was a nap really as satisfying if it wasn’t taken in the perfect pool of sunshine?

Definitely not.

(Someday, Calvin might enjoy taking naps again—Hobbes looked back on those days fondly; adventures and forts were all good, but sometimes a tiger just needed a quick recharge—and might even deign to have an opinion on this. For now, Hobbes took comfort in the fact that no one would argue with him and his (correct) conclusion.)

He perked up at the faint jangle of keys, but by the time the front door opened, he’d gone still again, his eyes open wide as dark buttons.

Unblinking, Hobbes watched as Calvin’s mom bustled in, her arms full of grocery bags, and a chilly winter wind on her heels. His fur fluffed up automatically, stowing warmth as close to his body as possible. Thankfully, she swiftly kicked the door closed, shutting out the frigid air.

As the temperature climbed back up, and In spite of the sub-optimal conditions, Hobbes let himself be lulled back to half-sleep by the rustle of her hanging her coat up and tidying the groceries away into the kitchen. Half-sleep meant that he half-heard the crinkling of plastic bags and the slight clatter of the cupboard doors closing on freshly stowed food. Sleepily, he made a mental note to tell Calvin that there were probably new snacks—maybe even a box of that cereal with the decoder rings he'd been wanting—in the house.

With his mind on Calvin's stomach—and code-breaking abilities—it took him a moment longer than usual for his nose to kick into gear. Once it did, though, Hobbes shot straight to attention.

Was that—? It was!

There was fresh tuna in the house.

It took all of Hobbes’ willpower not to start purring in anticipation, not to let his tail start lashing back and forth. Still, he couldn’t keep himself from thinking. It took no effort at all to imagine his fangs sinking into that juicy fish or how he'd feel with a belly full of the most delicious food known to tigerkind.

Oh, the nap he’d take once he finished that snack would be top notch.

Channeling every hunter's instinct engrained in his DNA, Hobbes slinked down the edge of the couch to go peek into the kitchen. He padded across the floorboards, careful to avoid the ones that creaked at even the slightest hint of weight. Luckily, years of practice had him at the door to the kitchen in no time at all.

Once he'd made it there, there was nothing between him and it: the Holy Grail.

Just visible on the kitchen counter was that promised package of heaven, neatly folded up into pristine white paper and a sure sign. It really was too bad that tigers couldn’t be butchers—he’d gotten Calvin to ask his dad once—because the perks of the job would be amazing.

Gathering his haunches under himself, Hobbes crouched and prepared to pounce. He wanted that tuna, and he wanted it yesterday.

Before he could spring, though, he was spotted.

"Oh, Hobbes!"

Calvin's mom's voice quite literally froze him in his tracks. He didn't so much as blink up at her, had instead gone limp and non-threatening in the face of her discovery.

She laughed a little, her hand fluttering near her chest as she got over her surprise. "You startled me! I thought I saw—" she laughed again and shook her head before bending him down to pick him up. The whole time she carried him back to Calvin's room, she never did finish that thought, but Hobbes was too put out by the loss of his feast to think too hard about it.

And once she deposited him back on Calvin's bed and shut the door behind her as she left, Hobbes had other things to think about. Specifically, he had plans to plot.

Of course, his main co-conspirator wouldn't be home from school for hours. That just meant that he had plenty of time to work out all the details.

Which was why he was entirely confident when he broached the subject with Calvin out in the yard after school. He'd been sure not to complain about having to go into the cold to help assemble another snowman tableau to greet Calvin's dad when he came home from work.He was also sure to push the snowballs right where Calvin directed, even if he thought that particular snow-victim would look better where it could lean against the mailbox in its agony rather than the flowerbed. But every bit of goodwill counted when it came to Grade-A, fresh caught fish.

“Did you know your mom brought home a whole steak of tuna from the store?”

Calvin paused in his snowman construction to think this over. “Not just a can?” he double checked because Hobbes had taught him what really mattered in life.

And much as he enjoyed his tuna fish sandwiches, nothing could beat a fresh filet, all wrapped up in its white butcher paper. Hobbes licked his lips, his mouth already watering.

"Nope," he confirmed.

Calvin whistled, low and impressed. He didn’t even need to be asked to join in Hobbes’ heist, immediately offering, “We'll get you that fish, buddy."

Hobbes gave him a grateful, tooth-filled smile, but really, he'd never expected any less.

Once they hammered out the finer points of the the plan away from any prying ears, they went inside, and settled in with their mugs of hot cocoa. As soon as he could feel his fingers again, Calvin set the second phase of Hobbes' master plan into motion.

"Hey, Mom?" he called.

"Yes, Calvin," she replied, hardly a hint of a sigh in her voice. To be fair, there wasn't anything really for her to sigh over. Hobbes had warned Calvin to be on his best behavior, promising not to pounce-tackle him for a whole week if they secured his tuna, and he’d listened. He’d hung up his coat by himself and lined his boots up by the radiator so they could dry out. There wasn’t even a stray drop of hot chocolate spattered on the table.

"Are we having tuna for dinner?"

They'd agreed that the easiest way for Hobbes to abscond with his fish was for it to go missing sometime during dinner preparation. Calvin would wreak some havoc elsewhere in the house, create a distraction with the Transmorgrifier if it came down to it, and Hobbes would sneak into the kitchen, get his paws on that delicious, delicious tuna, and make off to feast upon it somewhere in peace. To do that, though, they had to make sure that she hadn't already done something unspeakable like take out all the bones or remove the scales.

She stuck her head out of the kitchen at that, a suspicious furrow in her brow. She studied her son and his pet tiger at the coffee table, innocently sipping hot chocolate and seemed to know things were not as they appeared. "Are we having—? Is that what you want for dinner? A tuna sandwich?"

"No," Calvin said, patient. Hobbes sent him a discreet thumbs up even as his mom’s frown deepened. "Not a sandwich. That tuna filet that's in the refrigerator."

"How did you—" She cut herself off with a quick shake of her head, too used to Calvin's antics to really question where he'd gotten his information. "Never mind. No, Calvin, we're not having tuna for dinner. That's for Sunday with Grandma and Grandpa."

"Sunday?!" Calvin exclaimed, shooting Hobbes an indignant, panicked look. Hobbes sent one right back. They'd learned from the failed Cookie Dough Caper last year that they couldn't reach anything much higher than the second shelf of the refrigerator, and dragging a chair across the kitchen floor made too much noise to go unnoticed. Especially if one of them had to do it alone while the other caused a ruckus.

Hobbes' stomach rumbled in protest. He didn't think that he could wait until Sunday.

This time around, there was no hint of a sigh from Calvin's mom. It was right out there in the open. "Yes, Calvin," she said, sounding far more exhausted than she had a minute ago, "Sunday." She disappeared back into the kitchen rather than entertain any more questions.

Calvin turned to his feline friend, determination stealing over his face. "Don't worry, ol' buddy. We'll get your tuna, or we'll die trying!”

As much as he appreciated that assurance, Hobbes certainly hoped it wouldn’t come to the latter.

Much later, when the house had gone to bed after an evening fraught by much shouting and flung accusations about the location of certain groceries, Hobbes crawled into bed with a full stomach and a pleased smile. He let out a satisfied burp only once he'd snuggled in.

"Ugh," Calvin groaned, wrinkling up his nose and waving a hand in front of his face. His eyes were already drooping, which wasn't a surprise. He'd had to expend a lot of energy defending himself from his parents' extensive questioning. To his credit, he hadn't broken once. Probably because he could honestly tell them he hadn’t, in fact, removed the tuna from the refrigerator. Yes, he'd set off Spaceman Spiff's phaser and sent an entire load of freshly folded clothes in the laundry room tumbling to the ground, but Calvin hadn't taken the tuna.

That was all Hobbes.

"Watch where you point your mouth, tuna breath," he complained, even as he snuggled into the pillow and hugged his tiger close.

"Sorry," Hobbes said, curling happily around the boy. What more could he ask for than a bellyful of fresh fish, a soft, warm bed, and his favorite person in the world?

"S'okay," Calvin mumbled. Then, slightly sharper, he added, "Remember, no pouncing for a week."

Hobbes didn't offer a reply, just purred in complete and utter contentment.

That was just fine, though. Calvin hadn't stayed awake long enough to hear one.


End file.
